


Lonely Travellers

by Floptopus



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: (seriously tho thank you it was amazing), Angst, Based on a campaign, Character Study, Gen, If my DM is reading this he can go fuck himself, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Slavery, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/God Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Slavery, i guess, poor Jo’seph has been through a lot before the campaign starts, tfw it turns out your morally ambiguous deity is in fact morally ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floptopus/pseuds/Floptopus
Summary: Morally ambiguous paladin seems like a contradiction in terms. But then again, so does kind Drow.What about trustworthy trickster god?The story of someone who started as a meme character until I took her way too seriously.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Jo’seph’s family had always served the dark six. Those magically inclined became high clerics of the pantheon’s temple, managing the blood and bone sacrifices of their deities and fighting off the constant swathe of unruly, power-hungry visitors with the assistance of their stronger, more grounded family members. Rare was the member of the clan who chose a path other than monk or paladin, and rarer still was the family member who strayed to another faith, not even to follow the spider goddess favoured by most Drow people.

And, oh, the Raelis clan were feared. Even the Mockery, lord of treachery, understood the value of allies. And allies they were. The loyalty of a Raelis, it was whispered, was hard to earn and harder to lose. Crossing one member of the clan meant crossing them all, and even the dark gods that remained loyal to no-one seemed to constantly favour the family. Generation after generation had struck pacts with and received gifts from the six deities, but the family had yet to be double crossed. And everyone was double crossed by the dark six in the end.

Jay’s pack of twelve daughters had always been particularly gifted. Her eldest were fine warriors, and her youngest fine mages. They stuck together, a deadly force against anyone who dared to oppose them. The youngest, Bernice, had the audacity to be both good and kind in the underdark, a combination that should have had her killed years ago. And yet she was untouchable. Nobody dared harm a daughter of Jay for fear of a fate worse than death when the other eleven found out. Nobody, that was, but the daughters themselves.

Jo’seph had always personally favoured chaos. She found a joy in destruction and unpredictability that she couldn’t quite satisfy anywhere else. Her god-given artistic talents she used to craft fine china and statues, which she then shattered on the temple steps as a gift to the Traveller. She’d always felt a sense of kinship with the deity, choosing to bear his mark on her left soldier and sow discord in his name. She doted on her sweet baby sister, but even in her childhood she’d favoured the trickster god over all others.

As she came of age, Jo’seph’s dreams were filled with crimson-tinged images of splendour and power. A sense of warmth and pride permeated these visions, and their message was clear: she was destined for greatness. When she initially told her elder sisters of her clairvoyance, they were overjoyed. She was raised above her family, awed and respected and widely feared. In the arrogance of youth, she let that go to her head. She believed that she was wonderful and radiant and on the path to greatness, and as her mother showered her with gifts and affection she failed to notice the envy and bitterness of her neglected sisters. The attack was a complete shock to her.

She’d been training with Simone when it happened. Her other sisters had leapt out of hiding and fallen on her, raining down spells and blows until Jo’seph couldn’t think straight from the pain. The last thing she felt as her consciousness slipped away from her she later dismissed as a hallucination. A soft warmth, a sense of sadness, and a gentle male voice.

“Stay strong, my dear. You have so much ahead of you.”

* * *

When she came to, Jo’seph was in chains. She had a terrifying moment of fear when she opened her eyes and found herself unable to see, a sharp dagger of pain working its way into her mind the longer she kept them open. She snapped them shut, and the pain slowly ebbed away, but refused to leave completely. There was something white and hot burning into her eyes, and the way her hands were bound prevented her from raising them to defend herself.

Without sight to guide her, she instead carefully listened for any sounds that would help her work out what was happening. At first she only heard the ringing of her ears, but eventually-

“-going to get us all killed.” This voice was rough, deep and male. Whoever was speaking was obviously trying to sound angry, but the tremor in his words gave him away.

“What else were we supposed to do? Say no?” A woman, equally rough and far more forceful.

“Yes! If the matriarchs of her family find out about all of this, they’ll have us killed slowly and painfully. Probably as a sacrifice to their weird gods.”

Joseph bristled at that, but stayed silent and still as the woman spoke again. “And, what, you think that the nine of them wouldn’t have done the same if we’d refused them? Probably would’ve just tossed us into the same stinking pit they were going to throw her into and left us to die.”

“Are you two quite finished?” A third voice, smooth like treacle and dripping with irritation. “The Raelis clan hold no power on the surface. The way those bitches presented her to us, all beaten and bruised, they obviously wanted rid of her. And for such a low price, too! She’ll fetch a marvellous profit from the high elves.”

So, slavery. For all that Jo’seph and her sisters had raged against their imprisonment in the underdark, this was infinitely worse. Freedom defined her, and without it she had no idea who she was.

A quiet, desperate prayer to the Traveler was met with nothing but empty silence. Not even a prickle of cold on the back of her neck, a silent acknowledgment, the feeling of being watched. For the first time in her life, Jo’seph was truly alone. 

The metal around her wrists pulsed with a feeling of wrongness, and she knew instantly what was wrong. Her magic was being blocked by these manacles, preventing her from calling out to her patron or even drawing on her own personal reserves of magic. The shackles themselves, as far as she could feel, were silvered and almost unbreakable. There was no chance of her freeing herself without her magic.

Trying to hold back the rising fear and nausea, Jo’seph took carefully even breaths. The pain behind her eyes was slowly subsiding as she finally adjusted to her first time on the surface. The pain in her wounds refused to leave her, however, and it crossed her mind that if she went back to sleep, maybe she wouldn’t have to face this awful new reality of hers yet. And so, holding herself as still as possible, she let the pain of her injuries and the exhaustion brought on by her fear roll her back under.

* * *

For the next century, Jo’seph’s life was hell. She was bought and sold over and over as high elves revelled in their dominance over a Drow and then quickly became bored with mocking and beating a near-defenceless woman. Not completely defenceless, as those who let their hands wander too far found out when they were met with sharp teeth and a powerful fist.

Even in her personal prison, however, constantly separated from her magic as she was, Jo’seph’s dreams never stopped. Her nights were filled with fuzzy visions of opportunities to sow discord within the households she served, accompanied with whispers of you’re doing so well, and you’ll be free soon. That crimson-tinged warmth was weak but still there, always there, even though the bindings on her magic prevented her from calling out to the gods.

With the dreams as a guide and her anger as a weapon, Jo’seph made herself an omen of ill fate. Any house foolish enough to purchase the Drow would find themselves thrown into anarchy. A whisper in one servant’s ear, a planted piece of evidence, and Jo’seph could turn whole families against each other or cause mysterious accidents to plague a household. 

Her charisma became a finely honed weapon, the force of her personality as powerful as any spell and her quick tongue as sharp as any sword. Her physical strength, too, was almost unmatched from decades of hard labour on top of her already well-developed fighting skills. Nobody thought suspect the tiny, surprisingly well-liked dark elf of sowing discord until it was far, far too late.

Despite this, though, the work was still awful. Jo’seph suffered mockery and beatings and attempts at worse on a near-daily basis, and being starved of her magic for so long had rendered weak and stripped her of her protection from illness. Malnourishment and infection were constant concerns, and the degrading treatment took its toll on her emotional state.

One awful, cold night, Jo’seph swore an oath. Her newest masters beat their son, and she had been lashed and thrown in the outhouse to starve in the bitter winter for teaching how to fight back. She had no regrets as she curled up for warmth in the corner of the shed, shivering from both hunger and cold as she tried to ignore the fiery pain lancing through her back with every breath. Then and there, she swore that she would never let this keep her down. That one day she would achieve great things. That the name Jo’seph Raelis would be known the world over, whispered with fear and awe and respect. And as she swore her sacred oath, she felt a sense of approval and pride that was not her own as the lacerations on her shoulders began to heal over faster than her weakened state should ever have allowed.

That night, her dreams were filled with laughter and red eyes and promises of soon, my dear. Soon.

* * *

The Crimson Wars were a blessing in disguise. The fires of war took a long time to reach the high elves in their ivory towers, but oh, when they did, how they burned. The red army laid waste to Jo’seph’s household, removed her shackles and told her to serve the Crimson King or die. But she was nobody’s servant and never would be again.

Jo’seph channeled divinity for the first time in over a century, delighting as her connection to her patron was restored. She called her magic to her and killed them all where they stood. She laughed, and she laughed, and as she infused her stolen rapier with divine power and carved her way through both armies to freedom she heard the voice of the Traveller laughing along with her.

When she had distanced herself from the battlefields and made a small camp, slowly roasting meat that she had caught herself with her stolen weaponry, she prayed. She used rocks and sticks to construct an impressive monument, as tall as she was, and then set it on fire as a sacrifice to the Traveller. 

She told him in no uncertain terms that she would not serve him or anyone else ever again, and he chuckled and said,

“Of course not, my dear. You need never be beneath anyone, god or mortal.” His voice was warm and comforting and by god she’d missed it, and she tried not to weep as he continued. “Continue to act as my ally in this world or don’t, but my gifts are for you to keep. You’ve already done so much for me, and chaos is no fun if you’re not creating it if your own volition.”

She nodded, knowing he would see, and watched her tower turn to ash with satisfaction as she ate her catch. The warmth of the Traveller, his sheer sense of presence, stayed with her as she fell into the most peaceful trance she’d had in over a century. 

* * *

The Crimson Wars weren’t safe for travellers. The servants of the Crimson King frequently attacked lone adventurers and small parties, forcing them to join the cause or die. 

Given how many of the denizens of the underdark supported the King, with their vicious desire to watch the surface world burn, it was no surprise that very few mercenary groups would even consider letting Jo’seph join them. The guilds treated her with deep-seated suspicion when she applied to work with them, a Drow paladin in mismatched gear with the symbol of a trickster god on one shoulder. 

It was luck that brought her to her group, Tiefling triplets that had caught a glimpse of her slave brand and immediately understood what she’d been through. Jo’seph resented pity in all forms, but the quiet empathy of the three brothers failed to irritate her in the same way. They laughed together, and helped her gather art materials with which to pray, and glared daggers in the direction of clients who dared try to criticise her religious beliefs. 

Joseph and the brothers slowly garnered a reputation. For some strange reason, the servants of the Crimson King stayed well away from them and clients were willing to pay a significant premium for safety from the war on their travels. They began to rake in the gold, and Jo’seph bought fine chain mail and painted it with every colour she could find.

The brothers seemed impressed, and asked if this was another one of her prayers. A decade together had them used to the way she bought clay and paints and inks to create fine artwork that she would then smash or burn or rip up as a tribute to her god. They’d once visited a temple to the dark six to meet a client, a pathetic shadow of the one in the underdark, and had pretended not to notice the small shrine surrounded by similar ruined creations in one corner of the building. 

Jo’seph had laughed at their comments and told them to fuck off, that she looked fantastic in her new rainbow armour, far too good to destroy it as a prayer. The Traveller had laughed in the back of her mind, and agreed. 

“You look radiant, my dear,” he’d said, still chuckling. “Perhaps pair it with some red boots? A matching shield?” 

She had no idea when her god had gone from being a distant yet warm patron to being almost a friend, but she appreciated it. The way he responded to her prayers with suggestions and hit her over the head with visions, the way he insulted her when she fucked up and the warm amusement when he asked her to do something and she told him to get fucked were all different from what she’d expected from a god, but she enjoyed his constant company nonetheless.

The war raged on, and eventually time came for Jo’seph’s comrades. They retired with their savings and told her to visit them as often as possible. She agreed to, bidding them a warm farewell as she set off to the city to search for a new party. 

Halfway there, she was woken up in the dead of night when soldiers from the Red Army tried to sneak up on her. They started their platitudes, ordering her to serve the Crimson King or face their blades, and made it about halfway through before they all collapsed with cries of pain and fear. The tattoos each of them bore, crimson eyes that marked them out as the King’s servants, were glowing red-hot like brands. Joseph stole their valuables and continued on her way, surprised by the scathing anger she could feel from the Traveller.

“You’re nobody’s servant,” he explained when she asked after his fury. “Not mine, and certainly not the Crimson King’s. How dare they try and force someone under my protection into servitude.”    
  


* * *

The years passed, and the Crimson King’s followers were defeated. The Traveller slowly became quieter, still a constant presence but only offering commentary when Jo’seph prayed to him or when he felt a vision was necessary.

Jo’seph bounced from unit to unit, sticking with a mercenary unit as long as her skills were needed but leaving before people really noticed her race or religion. High elves were the worst, often retracting job offers as soon as they took a look at her face or trying to cheat her out of a cut of the wages, but even tieflings regarded her with hostility. She never again received the quiet acceptance of her first comrades, may Sehanine guide their souls, and no other unit matched their fighting ability anyway.

Sometimes, she would settle for a while in a city, taking jobs as an artist or craftsman. Those jobs never lasted long. Eventually she would be run out of town by racists or religious zealots. 

Despite her unfortunate appearance and continued propensity for mayhem, however, she always managed to stay one step ahead of the law. Bright, expensive clothing and a pretty smile kept her above suspicion for the most part and a stealthy knife in the back or a discreet handful of gold did the rest. People weren’t inclined to mistrust a paladin despite her race, and she used this to her shameless advantage.

Once, Jo’seph had found a job at a temple of many faiths. She had watched the patrons carefully, weeding out those looking to make discreet sacrifices to the darker gods and subtly directing them to the correct channels.   
  


The other priests would constantly whisper behind her back and cast her concerned glances. 

“Beware the gifts of the Traveller,” they would tell her, “as they often come with strings.”

She would laugh at that. “What’s a few strings when you’re free of your chains?” She would counter, and go back to her work.

The temple was razed to the ground by deluded idiots acting under the name of the Crimson King. As if he was still alive. Half a century of silence was enough to convince most people of his demise, though never to those who considered themselves to be ‘true believers’ - the ones who had deluded themselves into believing he would give them whatever they wanted as a reward for their random killing sprees. Jo’seph thought them fools. The Traveller agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the main campaign!

Jo’seph’s first impression of her newest party was not favourable. Fledge was incompetent, Erminar was a pseudo-intellectual asshole, Vers had no sense of privacy, Rivaan was a literal child, Aviana didn’t have the stomach to be a proper rogue and Jodelie was obviously hiding something. Having just killed most of them in a dream didn’t help those impressions, especially not when they started referring to her as the “crazy rainbow crossbow elf”.

Fledge grew on her very quickly. He didn’t judge her for her species or religion, he was so unshakeably good that she felt sorry for him and, most importantly, he had a very adorable wolf companion by name of Taka that she absolutely wanted to steal. All in all, he was pretty decent for a human. 

Jodelie, also, seemed alright as far as humans went. Whatever dark secret she was hiding didn’t change her love for life, freedom and music. She and Jo’seph had a lot in common and they would often talk late into the night in their shared room about art and music theory, Taka sprawled across their laps and shamelessly accepting pets from both of them.

Aviana seemed sweet. She was still a terrible rogue in the traditional sense and her elven heritage was unfortunate, but her shy and studious nature became quite endearing after a while. Her youth, and that of Rivaan, was a major concern to Jo’seph. How could these children, barely out of the womb, be expected to fight and fend for themselves? Ridiculous.

Rivaan still irritated her, but to his credit he was only nineteen. What had Jo’seph even been doing at that age? She couldn’t remember, except that she had been insufferably arrogant. (Not that she wasn’t still, of course, but these days it was tempered somewhat with the knowledge of how far she could fall.) 

She complained a lot to Vers. At around three hundred himself, he was the only person aside from Jo’seph that remembered the Crimson Wars. It was refreshing to talk about their personal history without the judgement that usually accompanied it, without the side-glances and the snide comments of “didn’t you Drow support the Crimson King?”. As a triton, Vers had all the memory and life experience of a fellow elf without any of the deep-seated racism.

The third eye thing and the mind reading? Still creepy. But at least he’d never turned them against her. If he did, he probably wouldn’t like what he saw.

Erminar was still a dick. He had all the arrogance of his high elf father but none of the wisdom that usually accompanied it. He’d once even tried to tell her how to be a ‘proper paladin’, which hadn’t ended well when she had, in turn, demonstrated to him how to be a proper monk with a nice unarmed strike to his face. 

Their band of misfits, their “multicultural menagerie mystery squad”, as Fledge called them, was pretty alright. It was so refreshing for Jo’seph to travel with a group that didn’t automatically hate her for being a Drow that she was able to deal with the fact that she only liked half of them and cared about two of them.

* * *

When Nephar first laid eyes on Jo’seph’s magnificent armour, her reaction was a groan and a muttered “I’m too hung over for this shit.” Jo’seph instantly liked her.

The Tiefling woman was understandably hostile towards the entire group at first, but that had changed after their first job together. Their client had been arrogant and rude, and Nephar’s first words to Jo’seph when they finally crashed in their shared inn dorm after the job were “fuckin’ elves.”

Erminar took instant offence to this, bristling defensively. “Just because our client this time was a dick doesn’t mean all high elves are like that! Don’t tarnish us all with the same brush!”

And, oh, that had been the wrong thing to say. Jo’seph had learned from her years in chains to hold her tongue, but Nephar had no such restrictions.

“Don’t tarnish all high elves with the same brush? I have been mocked, and beaten, and spat on just for daring to try and earn an honest living. Do you know how many elves, with their gilded clothes and their pretty faces, have tried to have me arrested or killed because they take one look at my horns and think ‘devil’? You may only be a half-elf but you will never, never know what it’s like to be cold and starving and to be turned away from town after town, all because of your bloodline. So don’t ever, ever sit there and preach at me like that again.”

By the end of Nephar’s speech, the entire party was staring at them. She was breathing heavily, angrily, and glaring daggers at Erminar. He was shifting from side to side, avoiding her gaze as best as he could.

“I’m going to sleep,” he announced after a long, awkward silence. He grabbed his pack and clambered out of the window, presumably to sleep under the stars as monks were wont to do. Nephar let out an angry shout, and stormed over to where Jo’seph was sitting in the corner of the room, meticulously cleaning her rainbow armour.

Jo’seph shifted over to make room for her and tried to smile welcomingly. 

“Fuck elves,” she murmured so that only Nephar could hear, and ignored the other woman’s shocked stare by whistling for Taka to come over. She let herself enter trance like that, with the warm weights of the wolf on her lap and the tiefling against her shoulder. 

When she stirred from her trance four hours later, mildly shaken from a vision of flames on the road, Jo’seph found Nephar asleep against her shoulder. Gently, so as to try not to wake her- her friend up, she stood and softly padded to the window. As she lifted the latch she heard a questioning murmur and turned to see Nephar watching her with one eye open. Jo’seph made a shushing noise, and slipped out of the window.

Once she was on the roof, she tiptoed over to where Erminar was sleeping. She pulled out her painting supplies and, with a grin like a shark, got to work. As she drew, she heard the voice of the Traveller in the back of her mind.

“Hold on for just a second, my dear.” 

Jo’seph paused in her artistry, and tilted her head to one side curiously. She felt divine power flowing through her, collecting in her hands, and grinned. She carefully put the finishing strokes on her artwork, drawing back to look at the finished piece with a giggle.

The Traveller chuckled softly, too. “Let us see him try to prestidigitate that away, shall we?”

When Jo’seph clambered back into the inn, Nephar raised a silent questioning brow. Jo’seph shook her head, trying not to laugh too loudly. 

Curling back up against Nephar’s side, she whispered, “now he’ll think twice before he speaks.” 

She could feel Nephar’s questioning gaze on her, but stayed silent. She felt energised, new power thrumming through her that she wanted to try using immediately.

As she began to concentrate on whatever new spell the Traveller had gifted her with, Nephar decided to speak up. 

“I take it you’ve also had bad experiences with high elves?”

“Mhm.” Jo’seph concentrated inward, drawing on this unfamiliar magic, and tried to think of an answer that would satisfy Nephar. “You’ve seen my arm, right?”

“Is this the arm with the tattoo of the morally questionable god, or the arm with what appears to be some kind of brand?” Nephar’s humour was dry, but appreciated. For all that she sniped that Jo’seph’s god was ‘morally ambiguous at best’ or ‘literally a trickster, why him of all gods?’ she had never actually tried to convert her away from her ways or even judge her for her choice. Not bad for a cleric, though perhaps as a grave cleric herself she was more than used to such preachings.

“The slave brand.” Jo’seph’s magic was beginning to take form, coalescing into some kind of shape in the centre of the room. How odd. “A high elf family gave me that when I talked back to them.”

A sympathetic wince. “Man, elves sure do suck, huh?”

“Technically speaking, I’m an elf.”

“Who, you? Nah, you’re too cool to be an elf.”

Jo’seph’s magic chose that moment to finish casting, with an internal  _ snap _ like an elastic band returning to shape. In the centre of the dorm room, lying on the nice round rug, was the biggest dog she had ever seen. He looked like a mastiff, with long shaggy black fur and glowing red eyes, except for the small fact that he was the size of a horse and that Jo’seph’s Paladin senses were screaming  _ fiend _ at her.

“Do you like him?” The Traveller asked eagerly.

“Very cool,” Jo’seph replied, both to him and to Nephar, who was staring at this new party member with her mouth agape. 

“What’s his name?” The Traveller asked, at the same time as Nephar said,

“Jo, what the fuck is that?”

She thought for a second. “Magic missile.”

“Jo’seph, darling, that is  _ not _ a magic missile.” Nephar said, and

“Missile for short?” The Traveller asked, delighted.

“Missile for short,” Jo’seph agreed. She stood up and approached her new steed, Taka following warily behind. Missile greeted her with a psychic sense of warmth, and then gave Taka a thorough sniff.

Jo’seph collapsed against this new, warm wall of fur and beckoned Nephar over with a grin. She frowned, but eventually got up, crossed the room and settled herself under Jo’seph’s arm. 

Taka, finished with his own thorough investigation of this new companion, flopped himself onto their laps. Within minutes both he and Nephar had dozed off, leaving only Jo’seph awake. She was happy to sink back into a trance, surrounded by people she genuinely cared about and comfortable leaning against her new gift.

* * *

When morning came, the rest of the party was rudely awoken by Fledge’s yelp of “Nani the fuck?”

He was staring at Missile, eyes wide in shock and night clothes askew. “Jo’seph, what the actual fuck have you done to Taka?”

“Nothing!” Jo’seph replied, chipper from her long rest. “This is my new steed, Magic Missile!”

“And you just decided to summon a fiend in the middle of the night?” Vers yelled, sounding slightly shrill. 

“Cool it, aquaman. Missile’s a gift from my god.” Jo’seph would have been irritated if not for her exceptional mood. As it stood, though, she was loving it.

“Ah yes,” Jodelie chimed in, “your very trustworthy and not at all dangerous god. Nephar, remind us of the saying?”

“Beware the gifts of the Traveller, for they always come attached to strings,” Nephar droned, yawning.

“Hey, where’s Erminar?” Aviana asked.

Speak of the devil. Erminar slipped in through the window, looking concerned. “What’s up? I heard shouting?”

Whatever else he had to say was obscured under Nephar’s sudden, loud laughter. Jo’seph couldn’t hold in her own giggles at her friend’s reaction, and the two clung onto each other as they tried to breathe.

When the others noticed the beautifully-drawn, anatomically perfect dick drawn on Erminar’s forehead, they all burst into laughter. They would calm down for a few seconds only to take another glance at Erminar and subside into another bout of cackles.

Irritated, the monk stalked over to the washbasin in the corner of the room and examined his reflection. He gave a deeply unimpressed sigh, and cast Thaumaturgy. Nothing. He tried the cantrip again, and again nothing happened. He grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at the ink, but it refused to budge.

“Jo’seph,” he demanded, turning to face the Drow with a frown, “what exactly did you do?”

“ _ I _ didn’t do anything!” She protested, managing to get her laughter under control. “Don’t worry, it’ll fade eventually.”

“Probably,” added the Traveller, chuckling softly. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climbing the tower

The resurgence of the Crimson King’s followers was, to Jo’seph’s mind, worrying. Especially as they seemed to be set on recruiting her party. She personally had been pretty unbothered by press gangs in the past, but even so she was fairly sure their tactics hadn’t usually involved charm, child murder or kidnapping siblings. It had always been far more simplistic and brutal.

Having the sweet, if dangerous, warlock child Lily back with them settled some part of Jo’seph that had been restless since the girl had collapsed dead from the strain of her magic days ago. Fledge had already promised to take her in after their quest was over and she had seemed happy with that arrangement. Jo’seph understood why Lily didn’t really want to trust any of the rest of the party, even if it was a little insulting when all she wanted was what was best for the child.

Less comforting was the vision she’d been hit with about an hour ago. The two servants of the Crimson King that they thought they’d killed, sitting together completely alive and unhurt. Talking, not just about how they needed Lily and Nephar’s wayward brother on their side but also about how the Crimson King wanted Jo’seph personally and felt confident that he could convert her to his cause. Disconcerting, yes, but even more worrying was the fact that the Traveller had been silent since. Jo’seph had prayed for guidance, hoping at least for reassurance that she was still safe from servitude, but had been met with nothing. For the first time since being freed from her chains, she was truly alone. 

Jo’seph was trying to make herself comfortable in their inn room of the night, leaning against Missile and braiding Nephar’s hair as Jodelie stared at the letter in her hands. Jodelie was pacing back and forth, her expression a mix of confusion and tentative hope. On the dresser was sitting a gift that had accompanied it; a single red rose encased in a bell jar.

“Who’s the rose from?” Jo’seph asked, trying to distract herself from the deafening silence in her head. “A secret lover?”

Jodelie whipped around to glare at her. “No, and don’t be facetious. It’s-”

All at once, she seemed to deflate. Handing the letter to Jo’seph and Nephar, she murmured softly, “can it possibly be true?”

There was a tremble in her voice, fear and tentative hope and old grief mixed into a bitter cocktail of emotions that seemed to be overwhelming her. 

Jo’seph scanned the letter before handing it over to Nephar. It seemed to be a grovelling apology from Jodelie’s sister, something about respecting Jodelie for leaving their awful family when she had and wanting to rebuild their relationship if at all possible. It was wonderfully worded, it was a beautiful sentiment and, to Jo’seph, it rang incredibly hollow. 

“Looks like we all have shitty siblings, huh?” Jo’seph quipped, trying not to think about days spent drawing with Benny or training with Ruby or raging about being trapped underground with Simone or a million other things she had done with her sisters, all of whom she had - and still did, even their betrayal couldn’t change that - loved dearly. 

Jodelie nodded. “I don’t- I want to believe her, but I can’t, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that. I think I’d feel the same way if the letter was from one of my sisters. I don’t think I could trust any of them unless they were there in front of me, and even then I don’t think I could forgive them.” Jodelie seemed comforted somewhat by Jo’seph’s words, some of the tension in her shoulders finally slipping away. She continued, “Of course, I’ve had over three centuries to think about this shit. She wants to meet up with you, right?”

“Right.”

“And if it were me, I’d go. See if she’s really sorry. Then again, it’s only been a few years for you. My sisters and I have had a lot longer to change our opinions of one another.” Jo’seph sighed. “I miss them, though. Especially little Benny. She always was the best of us. I hope she didn’t mourn me for too long.”

Nephar pulled both of them into a hug. “Of course,” she said, “if I ever see my brother again I’ll kill him. I don’t know how you two can be so willing to put the past behind you.”

“That’s fair,” Jo’seph agreed. “I know I would have killed them, too, after only a decade.”

“Why don’t you sleep on it?” Nephar asked Jodelie. “The letter says she’ll be here in a week. You don’t have to decide whether or not to meet her until she arrives.”

“Okay,” Jodelie agreed. She seemed a lot calmer than she had when she’d first read the letter, which was good. 

“Now,” asked Jo’seph, “do you want to sleep on a bed or a comfy Missile pillow?”

The rose lay on the side, forgotten. 

* * *

When they awoke, they were definitely not in the inn. Instead they were lying in a field of familiar-looking red roses, the only other visible landmark being an obsidian tower that loomed in the distance. 

“That lying bitch!” Jodelie shouted, sounding far more upset at her sister’s betrayal than angry. 

“Who?” slurred Fledge with a yawn. He gave Taka a brief check over before taking in their surroundings. “Also, may I be the first to say, nani the fuck?”

Nephar and Jodelie explained the letter Jodelie had received and the rose that came with it. The party seemed troubled but, at the same time, understanding. Who wouldn’t want to believe a letter of apology from an estranged family member? 

Jo’seph was silent, though. Something about this place felt oddly familiar. Not the roses, nor the tower, but something in the very atmosphere. She was sure she’d never been anywhere like it before, and yet. And yet. Missile also seemed similarly troubled, his ears pricked up and his fur standing on air. He was radiating a feeling of anxiety, and she was sure that he would be growling if he didn’t think it would intimidate the rest of the group. Jo’seph tried to think comforting thoughts his way, but they were probably crowded out by her own anxiety. 

Nonetheless, the only way to go was forward, towards the tower. Jo’seph let the party’s voices wash over her as she mounted Missile’s back and set off at a walking pace. 

About halfway there, she was startled out of her reverie by a voice in her head.

“Hey, you good up there?” It was Vers, soft and concerned. As usual, he had no consideration for the privacy of others.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jo’seph thought in his direction, knowing that he’d leave the mental link open. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

“Are you sure? Because Fledge and Nephar have been trying to get your attention for the past minute.”

Well, shit. She looked down and saw the two looking back up at her, as worried as Vers. 

“What’s up?” she asked them.

“Nephar said something about you having a vision yesterday?” Fledge looked like he wanted to ask her if she was okay himself but was willing to drop the subject for now. 

“Oh, yeah, I suppose I didn’t tell you about that. Remember those two servants of the Crimson King we thought we’d killed?”

“The ones who turned into goop? Dapper boy and Yinmaer?” Nephar interjected.

Jo’seph nodded. “Yeah, them. Turns out, they’re not dead.”

Erminar glared at her. “And you didn’t tell us this before why?”

“In case you didn’t notice, Erminar,” Jo’seph snapped, “I was kind of distracted by, I don’t know, the fact that we were teleported somewhere in the middle of our sleep?”

“She’s got a point,” Rivaan agreed.

Erminar looked irritated and was opening his mouth to say something else when Aviana placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we calm down a bit?” she murmured softly.

Nephar threw another worried glance Jo’seph’s way but said nothing. Nobody addressed her again until they reached the tower. As one, they decided to head on in.

The tower was quiet, and empty. The walls inside were the same unwelcoming obsidian as the outside, and the only feature in the vast entrance chamber was a spiral staircase leading upwards. Aviana and Rivaan spread out and searched for traps, but came up empty. It seemed that the only direction they could go was up. 

The first three floors were empty. So, when they reached the fourth floor, the party were caught off guard by perhaps the most powerful Hold Person spell any of them had ever faced. They were forced to stand as they were, stock-still, as a Duragir man approached Rivaan.

Rivaan gasped. “You,” he growled, voice dripping with more aggression and anger than any of them had heard from him before. He drew his battleaxe and rushed the Duragir, and as he did a burst of black shadows surrounded him and tore into the dwarf. He followed them up with a powerful swing of his axe, which the dwarf countered with his own axe.

It soon became a complicated dance, the two barbarians saying nothing between the powerful strikes of their weapons. Occasionally Rivaan’s uncontrollable magic would surge and tear into his opponent with shadows or vines or surround him with arcane energy. Despite that, though, he seemed to be struggling to gain the upper hand.

That was, until the Duragir swung wide and missed Rivaan completely. The young dragonborn took his opportunity, using his tail to whip the axe out of his opponent’s grasp and grabbing him by the throat. 

“You killed my father,” he growled, “and then blamed me for it. I was thrown out of my tribe, not even allowed to bury the body of my own family. All. Because. Of. You.”

And then, he snapped the man’s neck and threw his body to one side. As the sharp crack echoed through the room, the rest of the party found themselves able to move again. Nephar and Erminar rushed forwards, hands already glowing with healing magic. 

“Hey, Rivaan?” Jo’seph called, quietly. “Do you want me to take care of the body?”

The boy nodded. He was breathing heavily, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. Jo’seph picked up the body of the dwarf and threw it unceremoniously down the stairs, enjoying the series of thuds and cracks that echoed through the tower.

“Well, shall we continue?”

The next floor was warm. There were vines on the floor, and flowers crawling up the wall. Almost all of the sinister black of the tower was obscured under the colours of life. And sitting in the middle of it all was an old, frail-looking human woman.

Fledge let out a strangled noise. He was staring at the woman, his whole body trembling. He took a shaky step forward, then another, then he raced to her side and dropped to his knees. 

“Mum?” He whispered, softly.

The woman looked up at him, and smiled. “Fledge, my son. Look at you. You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

Fledge opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled sob. He tried again. “Mum, you’re- you’re dead.”

“I know.”

“But… how can you be here if you’re dead?”

She sighed. “I’m afraid I’m merely an illusion. One with the memories of your mother, but an illusion nonetheless.”

Fledge looked devastated. Jo’seph made a move to comfort him, which drew the illusion’s attention.

“For shame, Fledge,” she said. “You haven’t introduced me to your friends.”

Fledge looked miserable. “You’re an illusion. You could be a trap.” He raised his arm, an invitation, and Jo’seph leaned against his side. She couldn’t offer him much comfort, but she tried to express the sentiment in the way she curled her arm around him.

The woman just looked sad. Tired, and sad. “I understand. I made my peace with death a long time ago. I’m only sorry I can’t do more to help you, my child.”

Fledge clutched at Jo’seph’s arm. He was crying freely, staring longingly at the woman in front of him. With a trembling hand, he reached out towards her.

“Good bye, mum.” And, with a final sob, he waved his hand through the illusion, dispelling it. Immediately, the plant life around the room crumbled to dust. Fledge pulled Jo’seph into a full hug, sobbing into her shoulder. 

Unsteadily, uncertainly, she tried to comfort her friend. Taka padded over with a whine, curling himself up against his master as he grieved. 

The rest of the party stood aside, respectful, while Fledge tried to collect his emotions. Eventually, his breathing began to even out once again and he pulled back from Jo’seph.

Silently, holding on to each other for comfort, the group continued upwards. After countless empty floors, they reached a library. Soft voices could be heard echoing from the floor above, and they decided to take their last chance to rest.

Tomorrow, they would face the Crimson King.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first fight. This and the next chapter both occurred in the space of a single, intense, over 7-hour session.

When Jo’seph woke from her trance, everyone else was still fast asleep. She took the moment of solace to pray, as she did most nights.

She pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing the tower they were in, surrounded by its endless field of red roses. An hour later, and it was complete. She pulled the sheet of paper out of the book and tore it meticulously to shreds, praying for help in the battle ahead.

And then, she heard a laugh. It wasn’t the warm chuckle that she was used to being directed at her. No, it wasn’t a kind laugh at all. It was the kind of laugh that sent a shiver down her spine and she frowned, burrowing further into Missile’s warm fur.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” The voice of the Traveller echoed in her head, its usual warmth still there but muted by an unfamiliar emotion, a kind of bitter mixture of sadness and cold amusement as if even he didn’t know how to feel about something. And then, he spoke words that chilled her to the bone despite the clear attempt at comfort on his part. “I’ll see you soon, ok?”

Well, shit. That explained more that she’d like it to. Why the Crimson King’s followers had avoided her for so long in the war. His scathing anger when they’d tried to force her into service. Why his current servants had been so set on converting her, so sure that they could do it.

And weren’t they right? How could this party, who she’d only known for a month or two and who she only cared for half of, possibly compare to her oldest friend? How could she choose her new allies, who would all be dead and gone in a century, over the person who’d been by her side for centuries and who she trusted to stick with her?

And yet the idea of turning on Fledge and Nephar made her ill. Picturing their bodies dead at her hands, at the hands of her patron, made her shake with fear and horror. How could she possibly do that to the first people she’d genuinely come to care about in over a century?

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the Traveller had something planned. Or maybe she was scrambling for ideas. Jo’seph supposed she’d have to kill his servants anyway - Nephar’s brother had clearly done something unforgivable, and Jodelie’s sister had obviously lied to and manipulated her to bring the party to the tower. Jo’seph wasn’t a fan of his other choices in subjugates either, not after what they’d done to Lily. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she had any qualms about killing people she didn’t like. 

Jo’seph had been so caught up in her own thoughts, idly sketching crossed bones on the page in front of her, that she didn’t notice the others beginning to stir until Aviana let out a soft squeal of delight. In front of her, in a small alcove among the shelves that Jo’seph could have sworn hadn’t been there earlier, was a clockwork owl.

Aviana was continuing to let a high-pitched squeal of excitement, like a kettle boiling, as she picked up the owl and examined it from all sides. It let out a soft, metallic hoot and hopped onto her shoulder. She jumped up and down, flapping her hands in excitement. She was grinning wide enough to split her face in two and her eyes sparkled as she scritched the owl under its bronze beak. 

“Aviana, what are you doing?” Erminar yelled, looking like his blood pressure had just skyrocketed. “Put that down! It could be a trap!”

“Like the rogue wouldn’t be better at noticing traps than you, dickwad,” Nephar muttered under her breath at Jo’seph’s shoulder. Jo’seph snickered softly and then turned her attention back to Aviana.

The half-elf woman was still bouncing on her feet and smiling like a madwoman. “I’ve spent my  _ whole life _ searching for these relics. I never actually thought I’d find one; they’re supposed to be legend!”

The mechanical bird ruffled its feathers and hooted again, seemingly quite taken with its new mistress. Aviana’s familiar, also an owl, hooted from her other shoulder in greeting and she squealed excitedly again. “With this, I feel like I can take on anything!”

“Well then,” Vers said from near the stairs upwards, trying to surreptitiously sneak a book from the library into his pack, “let’s go kick this crimson fucker’s arse.”

“Amen to that,” agreed Erminar, grabbing his own pack. “Everyone ready to go?”

There was a quiet chorus of agreement as the party picked up their equipment. Jo’seph hopped onto Missile without a word, silently praying (ha) that she was wrong about the king. And then, as a group, they began their final ascent.  
  


* * *

The top of the spiral staircase opened out into a vast throne room. The walls were lined with sigils of the Crimson King’s mark, glowing red eyes that all seemed to watch the party as they entered. At the end of the room was a throne of obsidian, painted with red roses and carved with countless runes. The two subjugates of the King that they had fought before flanked the throne, one dressed in an impeccable black suit and the other in shining silver armour. 

In front of them was Nephar’s brother, Therai. He was wielding his lyre and grinning mockingly at her, seemingly pleased to see her. Beside him was a human woman with the same mahogany skin and coiled black hair as Jodelie, holding a red rose and grinning in an equally cruel way towards her own sister. 

Jo’seph noticed none of this. Her eyes were fixed on the woman who stood leaning against one wall, watching the party with her arms crossed. She had bright white hair that was cut in a short, choppy style and glowing red eyes that contrasted greatly against her obsidian skin. She was taller than Jo’seph, and more heavy-set, but their resemblance was undeniable.

Jo’seph leapt off Missile and ran at her sister. Her second-oldest sister, who she had spent hours each week training with, cursing their imprisonment in the underdark. Her second-oldest sister, who had co-ordinated the attack that had ended in Jo’seph being sold into slavery. Simone Raelis only had a second to brace herself before Jo’seph slammed into her and pulled her into her hug. 

Jo’seph’s stomach was churning. She had absolutely no idea how to feel about seeing her sister again, and the maelstrom of conflicting emotions made her feel a little ill. So, she tamped them down and tried to focus on what she could handle.

“Simone! Are you okay? How are you here?  _ Why _ are you here?” Jo’seph couldn’t stop herself talking, the questions spilling out at a thousand miles an hour as if maybe she could bury her emotions under the mountain of words.

Simone looked dazed and slightly uncomfortable, but also seemed immensely pleased to see Jo’seph. “I was looking for you,” she murmured, pulling her into another hug. “We’ve missed you. We…”

She drew in a breath, looking nervous. “We wronged you. So badly. He told us that we would find you here, that maybe we could make amends, somehow?”

“Who?” Jo’seph asked. She knew the answer, she was almost certain, but she wanted confirmation.

“You don’t know? The-“

At this moment, two things happened. Therai threw a knife at Nephar, and Jodelie’s sister murmured a spell. Simone trailed off, her eyes glazing over, and punched Jo’seph in the face.

Instantly, the room broke into chaos. Jo’seph swung herself atop Missile, readying her lance and charging to where Nephar was fighting both Therai and the man in black. In the corner of her eye, she saw a Hunter’s Mark streak towards Yinmaer and most of the rest of the party descend on him. 

Nephar barked a few words and surrounded herself in a whirlwind of glowing spirits, which Jo’seph passed through harmlessly and brought her lance, glowing with divine energy, down on the man in black. He reeled from the smite and she followed it up with a burst of fire that crawled over him and Therai, causing them to glow in ever-changing colours of the rainbow. 

Over her shoulder streaked a guiding bolt that found its mark in Therai. Jo’seph gave Nephar a thumbs up and continued to slash at the pair with her lance, occasionally following it up with a bite from Missile. Therai swung his dagger at her but Missile reared up and he swung wide, burying the blade in the shoulder of his comrade. 

Suddenly, there was a shout from the room. “Jodelie’s down!”

“I’ll go,” Jo’seph called to Nephar. “You handle these two!”

Erminar broke off from the assault on Yinmaer to join her, swiftly twirling out the way of an attack thrown his way as he prepared his healing spell. As Jo’seph laid her hands on Jodelie, channeling her divine power, she noticed that Erminar kept glancing nervously over to Simone.

Simone was slowly walking towards Nephar, wincing as she was battered and sliced into by the spirit guardians. She didn’t seem to be planning anything, that Jo’seph could see, but Erminar looked like he was debating taking her out.

“Don’t you dare,” she growled at him. He raised an eyebrow at her and opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off as Jodelie’s sister blinked into existence in front of them and blasted a spell at them. Erminar leapt out of the way, taking Jodelie with him, and Jo’seph hopped back onto Missile. She didn’t manage to land an attack of her own on Jodelie’s sister before she blinked away, and so she instead charged back towards Nephar. 

On the way, she passed Simone. She quickly brushed a hand over her head, casting a healing spell with it. Simone stared up at her, shocked and a little dazed, but said nothing else. 

As Jo’seph reached Nephar, firing a crossbow bolt at the man in black as she did so, Therai staggered. Nephar took her chance, swinging a physical weapon into his side. He choked in pain, holding his sister’s gaze for just a second before dissolving into black goo. He’d never really been there at all. 

Nephar gave a cry of rage and cast another cantrip at the man in black. That, combined with a divine smite from Jo’seph’s lance and a bite from Missile, was enough. His body fell to the ground with a final thud, and Nephar let her spirit guardians dispel. 

Together, they looked across the room to where the rest of their friends had managed to topple Yinmaer. They all glanced at each other, silently wondering what to do next, until Jodelie’s sister blinked into existence again. She pointed at Jo’seph, and Jo’seph felt ice trickle down the back of her spine as a crown of thorns appeared over her head.

Immediately, she leapt of Missile, leaving her weapons sheathed in his saddle as she ordered him to get away from her. She sprinted in the opposite direction to Nephar, not stopping until she reached the wall. Now, the only person near her was Simone. 

“Simone, get away!” She called, backing into the corner as far away from her family as she could. “I’ve been charmed! I don’t want to hurt you!”

But Simone wasn’t listening. There was a strange look on her face as she slowly stalked towards Jo’seph. The others were surrounding Jodelie’s sister, whaling on her with attacks, but they couldn’t seem to break her concentration. The others, but not Nephar. 

Nephar was staring at Jo’seph with an expression of concern, keeping a little out of range but with her weapon readied. Simone was standing over Jo’seph, and Jo’seph felt her body move of its own accord. Her unarmed strike missed, thank god, but Simone wouldn’t leave.

Simone drew her dagger, and lunged. Nephar ran forward with a cry of fear, bolts of radiant light flying from her hand and hitting into Simone. The Drow woman stopped, mid-lunge, and her eyes cleared. Jo’seph watched, horrified and unable to move, as her sister burst into flames. She burned, and she burned, and then she collapsed, her blackened body hitting the floor. 

There was a cry of pain from across the room as Jodelie’s sister fell, but Jo’seph didn’t hear it. She was still staring in horror at Simone’s body. 

Nephar piped up from next to her, “Jo’seph, I’m so sorry, I meant to subdue her and I misjudged, I-”

Jo’seph turned to face her. Tears were beginning to trickle down her face, and there was nothing but fury and sorrow in her red eyes. She said nothing, only stared with a dead-eyed expression.

Crimson light swept through the room, bringing with it a powerful healing magic that seeped into them all and restored not only their health but their energy. From her position in the corner of the room Jo’seph saw, as the light cleared, a man sitting on the crimson throne.

Were it not for the aura of power emanating from him, he could have almost passed as an ordinary man. His long mane of blood-red hair was kept off his face with an intricate golden hairpiece, and then tied into a ponytail. He was tall and muscular, with crimson tattoos swirling across almost every inch of dark skin not covered by his impeccable black and red suit. His crimson eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, as Jo’seph’s did, and his sharp teeth were bared in a warm, amused smile.

He stood from the throne, and Jo’seph noticed the symbol on his cloak - four crossed, rune-inscribed bones. The same symbol that she had had tattooed on her shoulder for the better part of four centuries. The symbol of the Traveller.

Shakily, she reached for her sister’s body. He didn’t seem angry, surely he’d let her bury Simone. Jo’seph didn’t know what she was going to do if he refused her.

Softly, nervously, she spoke up. “Sir, may I-”

He smiled in her direction. “Of course, my dear. Take all the time you need.”

Her friends stared at her as she left, cradling her sister’s body in her arms with Missile following dutifully behind. Jo’seph had never called anyone sir before, never extended a modicum of formality. And here stood a powerful, ancient being, their sworn enemy, smiling kindly at her and calling her dear like a father. None of them knew what to make of it.

And as for Jo’seph. As soon as she had left the throne room, its doors slamming ominously shut behind her, she fell to her knees and broke down in tears.


End file.
